Trap Forty-Four
by devdevlin
Summary: Trouble always had a way of finding Hermione Granger, and come the end of her sixth year at Hogwarts, she finds herself in quite the predicament. And when she meets the boy by the name of Tom Riddle and she discovers that he is nothing at all like she expected, it will surely only be a matter of time before she is consumed completely by the trap of nineteen forty-four...
1. One

Behold, my first ever contribution to Tomione Day! For this ship that we all know and love, I have chosen to do a brief classic time-travel fic; the staple trope of this wonderfully sinister pairing.

(It's early, I know, but I will be uploading the second and third parts on the 26th and 29th respectively, because I clearly have no self control (it's actually finished too, so you don't have to worry about being left hanging omg yaaaaaayyyyyyyyy))

 **This story is set at the end of the Half-Blood Prince.**  
 **I repeat; nothing from the Deathly Hallows will be in this fiction.**

For a little insight, I would just like to say that my biggest pet peeve with time travel fictions, is that Hermione is always so **perfect.** Like, she's a genius, knows exactly who everyone is, knows exactly what to say, knows exactly what's going on at all times, **perfect.** Personally though, I believe that if Hermione was sent back half a century by mistake, she'd be **_freaking the fuck out._** I also am a firm believer that she is so good at her studies not because it comes naturally, but because she is obsessive and **_she puts in the work._** So anyway, I've been wanting to expand on imperfect Hermione for a long time, so I wrote this!

I'm positive that there will be those of you who don't like what I've done here, so feel free to hit me up on tumblr - you'll get a better response from me there than here, I promise you (or y'know, if you just like tomione-inspired sick, fucked up pretty things or wanna chat, then also maybe check it out).  
.com

Anyway omg, on with the show!

* * *

A worn-out Hermione Granger trudged up the snow-covered hill, taking the very same journey that once upon a time would have filled her with excitement. She didn't want to be there. She knew it was foolish and much too risky an idea, but what other choice did she have? _She needed to get home._ She had been here far too long already, and none of her ideas had amounted to any success thus far.

Hogwarts was the only option left.

As she reached the familiar wrought iron gates of the main entrance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, her earlier doubts over her decision came back with full force; what if they couldn't help her? She could end up destroying life and everything as she knew it, and for what? Her own selfish reasons? She should just turn back, now, while she still could...

Before she could do so, however, a large figure stepped out from darkness of the trees on the Hogwarts side of the gates. She retreated a few steps, watching warily as the large man approached with long, slow steps. As he reached the gates, he moved his wand hand, the gates groaning eerily as they opened.

"And just what do we 'ave 'ere?" The man asked slowly as he stepped through the gates closer to Hermione.

Hermione swallowed, trying not to let the man's daunting appearance shake her nerve. The scars across his face together with his large, red beard gave him the appearance of a lion who had seen many battles in his time.

"I – I need to see Professor Dumbledore," she stated assertively, attempting to channel her inner Minerva McGonagall.

"Dumbledore?" The large man questioned at once. "What you need to see 'im for?"

"It's... it's private."

The large man frowned as he watched her. "You didn't think to owl first?"

"Please, sir. It's urgent," she said, a hint of desperation seeking through into her words.

He sighed loudly before he slowly turned to look upward. He made a resonating whistle with his lips and waited expectantly.

"Name?" He asked without looking down.

"Hermione."

"'Ermione...?"

She cleared her throat softly. "Graves."

When he didn't say anything more, Hermione followed his upward gaze until a movement far in the distance caught Hermione's eye; moving swiftly toward them, was a large black owl. It circled over the pair for a moment before swooping down to land on the man's awaiting arm.

"Archimedes," the man greeted with a distinctive look of confusion as he eyed the parchment held in the owl's beak. He pulled the parchment out and unrolled the note, pursing his lips as he read. Once he seemingly finished reading, he let out a loud sigh before giving the bird a quick pet and sending it off back toward the castle again.

"Come on then," he said suddenly, storing the parchment away in his pocket.

Hermione wasn't about to argue.

The man's legs were reasonably longer than her own, and she almost had to jog up the slippery dirt track to keep up. He didn't say anything more as they travelled, and Hermione wasn't game to try to make conversation, lest she say something to change the large man's mind about letting her in.

Once the unlikely pair finally made it up into the Entrance Hall of the Castle, Hermione couldn't help but stare in wonder. Although it had only been two weeks since she left the castle of her own time, she had truly missed the warm comfort of the school. Being there again, seeing that in nineteen forty-four it was almost exactly the same as she remembered (minus a handful of paintings), she couldn't help but feel a warm rush of comfort and happiness, even though she was so far from home.

It gave her hope.

As they passed through toward the Grand Staircase, they passed a group of students exiting the Great Hall. Their conversation ceased as they noticed them, the group stopping to stare at her and the groundsman curiously.

The man she was with merely grunted at them and didn't stop as he guided her up the stairs. She scurried along with her head down, happy to not have to interact with more people than absolutely necessary.

 _The fewer people she interacted with in this time, the better._

She very nearly questioned her escort as he turned off at the first-floor corridor, remembering at the last moment that Dumbledore wouldn't have yet been appointed Headmaster.

The large man knocked on the cracked door to the first year Transfiguration classroom, the occupant responding with a speedy, "come in."

As Hermione's eyes were drawn to the thin man behind the main desk of the classroom, she felt a strong stab of emotion seeing Albus Dumbledore once more, in the flesh. He looked painfully young.

"Thank you, Silvanus," Dumbledore said, dismissing her escort.

At his words, one of her eyebrows shot up as she deduced who her guide must have been. _Silvanus Kettleburn_ , groundskeeper of Hogwarts, before Hagrid.

By the way that Dumbledore barely gave her a glance as Kettleburn left the office, and by the strange note passed on by the owl, Hermione was sure that he must have known she was coming.

"Now," he began, once the door fell closed. "Whatever brings you to my office this evening, Miss...?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"Graves, sir. It's - well -" she stuttered, unsure of how to begin and how much to divulge. "You see, sir... I'm in a slight spot of bother."

* * *

A short hour later, Hermione _Graves_ found herself pacing the seventh-floor corridor with a rather young and optimistic Albus Dumbledore. Thankfully, it had passed the students curfew, so the corridor was conveniently deserted. Upon her explaining her situation, the Professor had been awfully understanding - _suspiciously so_ \- and had suggested the trip back to the room that had gotten her into the mess to begin with.

 _I need a way to go home,_ she thought to herself firmly. _I need a way to go home, I need a way to go home._

As the familiar old door appeared, Hermione took a deep breath before sending an unsure glance back toward the Professor.

"Best of luck," he said with a nod to the door.

She hesitantly took the doorknob in her small hand and twisted. Pulling the door open, she immediately grinned seeing what looked to be the very same stone wall behind her in front of her.

 _Could it possibly be so simple?_

After a quick glance back at Dumbledore, Hermione stepped through the doorway and felt the same unnerving feeling she had felt weeks earlier.

"No luck?" Professor Dumbledore asked curiously, seeing the bushy-haired witch stepping out of the door once more.

"I- " Hermione spun, seeing the same corridor in which she stood, now duplicated behind her in the room of requirement.

Her shoulders slumped as she realised the loophole the room must have made.

"It would appear not."

"Ah," Dumbledore sounded, looking down the corridor thoughtfully. They stood in silence for a moment as Dumbledore pondered, while Hermione squeezed her eyes shut in attempt to prevent the building panic attack.

"Tell me again," Dumbledore started slowly. "Word for word. What _exactly_ were you asking for, the first time you entered the room?"

"I needed a safe place," Hermione said, repeating what she had told him in his office.

"Can you remember your _exact_ wording?"

"'I need a safe place'," she repeated insistently, feeling a wave of irritation at her old headmaster.

Really though, what did he expect? She wasn't foolish enough to go telling him the _true_ words she had mentally spoken, and she was sure that he must have known that. Messing with time at such a scale was _unthinkable_ ; Dumbledore in this time couldn't know about Voldemort, or his horcruxes, let alone their urgent need to destroy them. The ramifications to the timeline of him having such knowledge half a decade too early were unimaginable.

"Well, then it seems, that perhaps the room has sent you here, because it _is_ your safe place," Dumbledore suggested. "Or... it might have sent you here for a purpose, of sorts _._ "

"A purpose..." Hermione repeated aloud, thinking on his words.

It seemed obvious enough. She had asked for a way to destroy Voldemort's horcruxes, so the room had sent her back in time, to when such a thing was still possible. But destroying the horcruxes before Voldemort had fully risen to power was much easier done in theory than in practice. They didn't know where to begin their search in her own time, yet alone in the forties! And even if she _did_ somehow manage to find them ( _if they had even been made yet!)_ , she was still left with the same problem; how was she supposed to destroy them?

"Perhaps, it would be best for you to remain in the castle, Miss Graves," Dumbledore suggested lightly. "I'm sure we can sort out an arrangement, for you to remain close to the room, should you think of any new approaches of solving your predicament."

Hermione nodded, knowing it made sense. She could come back and pace every night if she needed.

"Wonderful," Dumbledore said brightly. "I'll see to it that the appropriate accommodations are set to order."

* * *

"You want me to be a _student? Again?_ " She asked incredulously. She stared down at the auburn-haired professor behind his desk, her fists perched firmly on her hips.

"It seems the only feasible option."

Harry had been completely right. The man was bonkers.

"But... couldn't I be your aide? Or... or, a tutor? I could teach!"

"Headmaster Dippet unfortunately would not allow it. Not for a seventeen year-old."

Her stomach tightened at his unsaid words. _They'd never allow a young, unmarried_ woman _to teach._

"But I could help in the hospital wing, as a nurse! Or... or-"

"I think it would be best this way," Dumbledore continued. "You _did_ say that you haven't yet completed your NEWTs."

"Oh yes, because that makes _perfect_ sense," Hermione snapped, her irritation with the whole situation escaping her in full force at last. "I'll just go fifty years into the future and hand in my parchments, shall I? I'm sure the Ministry will have absolutely no problem with them being dated _nineteen forty-four_. _Honestly..._ "

Dumbledore chuckled.

"We'll have to get you sorted again, of course."

"I - _are you not listening to a word I'm saying?!_ "

"I heard you very well, Miss Graves. But it is the only way for you to remain within these walls indefinitely. If the room is the only way for you to get home, then it makes the most sense for you to remain close by."

She rolled her eyes blatantly, no longer having the patience to care what the man thought of her manners.

And so, the next evening, for the second time in her life, Hermione sat upon the old wobbly stool in front of the whole student cohort of Hogwarts. She found the whole experience to be far more embarrassing than it had been the first time, and if she were honest, a little undignifying.

 _Bloody Dumbledore. Surely, he could have arranged for it to be done privately. She was supposed to be keeping a_ low _profile!_

The strange sensation of the hat's voice in her head drew her away from mentally berating her old headmaster.

 _ **My, my, what a wonderful mind.**_

She turned her eyes upward in attempt to look up at the hat - it was only polite, after all - but saw only brim.

 _ **But where to put you, where to put you...**_

 _I hear Gryffindor is nice,_ she thought back at the hat.

 _ **Gryffindor has already had its chance with you, has it not?**_

 _Well then, I suppose I_ would _enjoy the daily riddles of Ravenclaw,_ she suggested.

 _ **Yes... but you are far too cunning for Ravenclaw, I think.**_

 _Well, in that case, I suppose Hufflepuff it is!_

 _ **Ambitious, too. So very ambitious...**_

 _Yes, perfect for Hufflepuff._

 _ **And extremely resourceful... yes. I can see it now; a strong desire for praise. A desire for knowledge. A desire to be the best, to prove yourself, and to lead.**_

 _What?_

 _ **Oh, there is only one house that will nurture you as you so deeply desire.**_

 _No-_

 _ **Slytherin will nourish you... groom you... prepare you for greatness...**_

 _I think you are mistaken._

 _ **Then...**_

 _No._

 _ **...I do believe...**_

 _But I'm a muggleborn!_

 _ **...it must be...**_

 _Please._

"Slytherin!"

Had the whole school not been sitting in front of her, Hermione would have protested. Instead, she sat unmoving upon the stool out of shock as she processed the hat's decision, until Dumbledore gave her a forceful prod in the back. Sending a short glare in his direction, Hermione reluctantly stepped down from the raised platform and over to the far side of the Great Hall where the Slytherin table ran, cursing the old hat with each step she took.

 _Why the bloody hell would it put her in Slytherin? There was just no logical reason! She was not cunning! She did not value self-preservation over all else!_

 _She was a muggleborn for Merlin's sake!_

Seeing more glares and questioning glances from the students dressed in green than welcoming smiles, she kept her head down and bee-lined to the end of the table where the seventh years had sat in her time. Seeing a small patch of space between a tall blonde girl and a short red-haired boy, Hermione claimed it without question.

It was best not to ask for permission in Slytherin, she supposed.

"Wonderful!" Dippet's booming voice echoed through the hall, although Hermione was still far too put out with Dumbledore and his blasted hat to notice. While she pondered her situation and if there were any way to demand a re-sorting, she again failed to notice as Dippet announced the beginning of dinner and the large platters running down the centre of the tables filled with food.

It wasn't until the girl sitting across the table spoke to her, that she was brought back to her surroundings.

"' _Graves',_ was it?" The dark-haired witch asked with an unhidden sneer.

Hermione almost gasped seeing the girl - she looked so _familiar._ Yet... not familiar at the same time. The combination of her long dark hair and dark eyes painfully reminded her of Sirius.

"Yes."

"Funny," she commented sourly. "I haven't come across the name ' _Graves_ ' before."

"My father was a muggle," Hermione said bravely as she held the girls eye contact.

The girl drew in a quick breath. "You're -"

"Half-blood, yes, do keep up," she said, hoping she was channelling Draco Malfoy accurately. As soon as the hat announced her as a Slytherin, she decided that she couldn't let it be known that she was a muggleborn. Muggleborns sorted into Slytherin were extraordinarily rare, and Hermione desperately needed to ensure she was average. She couldn't be remembered. Not if she wanted to preserve the timeline.

The girl sneered. "We don't get many of _your_ kind here."

"Walburga," one of the boys said warningly from Hermione's right.

Walburga glanced over at the boy with the 'Head Boy' badge and quickly glanced back to Hermione. Her scowl still remained firmly in place, but at least she didn't say anything more.

"Allow me to apologise for my dear cousin," the tall girl to Walburga's left said quickly, as she leaned across the table and extended a hand toward her, while Walburga rolled her eyes. "Lucretia Black."

Hermione quickly grasped her hand in greeting. "Hermione Graves."

"We haven't had a newcomer in years," Lucretia began. "You're quite the commodity, you understand. The last one was in 1936 if I remember correctly, before any of our time."

Hermione smiled but didn't comment.

"You've had a stroke of luck being sorted into Slytherin, you know. We are by far the superior house," she continued matter-of-factly.

"I don't suppose you'd be biased at all," she said, almost teasingly.

"Not in the slightest," Lucretia said with an amused smile.

In that moment, her questionable family aside, Hermione decided that she didn't mind Lucretia Black.

"This is Celeste," Lucretia went on, gesturing to the blonde girl seated next to Hermione. "And to your right is Owen, although he prefers to go by Avery. Next, you have Priscilla and Sebastian, and next to him is Evander. And down the end, Abraxas, Rolan, Lawrence, and our Head boy, Tom."

She didn't have any trouble recognising Abraxas as a Malfoy. It seemed that the pale blond hair and the overall air of superiority must have been dominant family traits. The dark-haired boy next to him who she assumed was Rolan was stocky - Hermione would have been willing to put money on him being the Quidditch Captain. The next boy Tom was easy enough to determine, the shiny badge marking him clearly. He was awfully... _pretty._ That left the stumpy looking boy next to Abraxas, who must have been Lawrence.

"That's all who's worth knowing, anyway," she finished as she primly crossed her hands on the table top.

"I'm sure I'll need reminding."

Lucretia smiled and pushed the jug of pumpkin juice toward her. She accepted it, grateful for the opportunity to eat at last.

By the end of dinner, Hermione felt as if she had suffered through enough small talk to last her a lifetime. Still, she was grateful for Lucretia and Celeste's friendliness, even if they were only temporarily interested in the newcomer.

They didn't manage to make it far as they exited the Great Hall, however, before they were quickly stopped by the Head Boy, who's curious dark eyes were focused on Hermione.

"May I interrupt? I hope you don't mind, Miss Black."

"Of course," Lucretia answered, her eyes lighting up.

"Tom," he greeted, offering Hermione a pale hand. "Head Boy."

She shook his hand, noting how cool his skin was.

"Hermione."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Hermione. May I show you to the common rooms?" He asked politely, extending an elbow toward her. "That is, if Lucretia does not already have the honour?"

"Um," she started awkwardly, feeling slightly stunned as she watched Lucretia wave them on before slipping off to catch up with Celeste. "I don't see why not," she decided quickly as she wound her hand around his elbow, deciding that having an escort was for the best. She wasn't supposed to yet know her way around the castle, after all.

She tried not to focus too hard on how beautiful her escort was, she really did. But it proved to be an impossible task as they began on their way and he gently pulled her arm further around his such that their shoulders were brushing. She wasn't normally the type to be attracted to others based purely on looks; to her, the mind was always the most alluring quality one could have. But she would have been lying if she said she wasn't immediately drawn to the Head Boy.

"Headmaster Dippet said you were homeschooled?" He asked politely as they turned down the hall that held the entrance to the dungeons.

"Yes," she managed, still trying quite hard not to focus on his perfect jawline. "But with the war getting worse and worse, mother thought it best that I was sent to school this year, albeit, a week late."

Her cover story was, admittedly, weak. But she and Dumbledore had both agreed that it would be best not to over-complicate it; less chance of her getting her own story wrong that way. She hopefully wouldn't be staying permanently, after all.

He nodded. "I can understand. I'm from London, myself. The war has been horrendous, even with it being muggle technology."

From his sombre expression, the reality of the situation that the muggles of London were facing suddenly hit quite hard. Although it had been her cover story, she knew nothing compares with those who were _truly_ experiencing the brutality.

"I'm sorry," she said without a thought.

He cracked a smile. "I suppose that makes us quite the sorry pair."

She admired the way his smile truly lit up his features, and it was contagious.

"Do you know what subjects you're taking yet?" He asked suddenly, changing the topic to something lighter.

"Yes," she answered a little bit too enthusiastically, grateful for both the shift and the distraction from his smile. "Charms, Defence, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Potions," she announced proudly, having already memorised her class schedule Dumbledore had given her that morning. She supposed if she was being forced into being a student again, she may as well take his advice and make the most of it.

"You're taking seven NEWT classes? With Ancient Runes _and_ Arithmancy?" He commented, his tone skeptical. "I am forced to wonder why the hat didn't choose to sort you into Ravenclaw."

"You're not the only one," she said, almost bitterly. "Though it did consider it, however briefly."

"I'm not at all surprised with a schedule like that," he said as he glanced down at her. Seeing her sad smile, he continued, "don't worry. We Slytherins can be just as bright as the Ravenclaws, regardless of what they might have you believe."

As she glanced up and he gave her a kind smile, she felt _comforted_ , more so than she had even with Dumbledore. He just had that sort of air about him; comforting, easy-going, like he was someone to be trusted.

"Thank you."

"That's quite alright. We look after own in Slytherin."

Positive that a blush was seeping in, Hermione changed the subject back to classes, "and you? Which subjects are you taking?"

"All of yours, bar Ancient Runes. I have Divination in that period instead."

Hermione's nose crinkled in distaste for the subject out of reflex.

Tom laughed, a soft, musical sound. "It's not for everyone, I'll admit."

"Though, you're taking seven NEWTs too - maybe I'll have some competition," she teased, starting to feel a bit excited at the prospect of having a friend taking her classes with her, as opposed to the few she shared with Harry and Ron.

"Maybe," he agreed, flashing his teeth once more.

She actually felt a little disappointed as they slowed upon reaching the patch of wall she knew housed the Slytherin common room.

"The entrance to the common room is hidden, and requires a password," he explained, and she gave him her best expression of polite interest. " _Sopophorus._ "

She eyed him questioningly.

"A very rare plant, but also a very useful ingredient in potion-making."

"No, I just mean..."

He nodded understandingly. "Professor Slughorn usually chooses a password from his classes. I would hazard a guess that he chose this years after planning his sixth-year lessons. The Draught of Living Death is one I suppose he found somewhat fitting for Slytherin house."

"I see..." she said, trailing off as she took in the green and silver room ahead of her.

"The common room will be free for you to use whenever you wish. The books over there and all of the furniture are for communal use. We have a curfew at nine pm, if you're not back in the common room by then, you'll risk losing house points or being awarded a detention."

Although she was focused on his musical voice, she had a hard time listening to what he was saying.

"The girls' dormitory is down that hall to the left, the boys is to the right," he continued. "If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to find me, although I'm sure Miss Black will be more than happy to help you."

"Thank you," she said after a pause as she realised he had finished, feeling enormously grateful for his kindness.

"This is where I leave you. I _unfortunately_ have been appointed to do the prefect rounds this evening," he said, unravelling his arm from hers to take her smaller hand in his. He brought the back of her hand up to his lips, holding her eye contact as he pressed a light kiss to her skin. "Have a good first night, Hermione."

"Thank you," she repeated dumbly, her voice coming out as a whisper.

As she left him and stepped down to the girl's dormitory, Hermione felt a little overwhelmed. It was little wonder he had been chosen for Head Boy. If he was as charming with the Professors as he was currently being with her, then she was certain that he must have had them eating out of the palm of his hand.

She tried not to let herself get too excited at the prospect of making a friend, especially one who shared almost all of her classes. He was Head Boy, after all. It was quite literally his job description to show her around. Not to mention, making friends here was a _bad_ idea; she couldn't be remembered.

Still, she'd never had an easy time making friends... maybe this time, in a house with more similar minded people, she'd have better luck... and if she truly ended up _stuck_ here, then perhaps it wasn't _such_ a bad idea...

Her first night sleeping in the dormitories of Slytherin house was not nearly as bad as she had anticipated. She had imagined that being in the dungeons, the dormitories would be frosty at night. But she was pleasantly surprised by the effectiveness of the warming charms. Their shared dorm, being positioned partially under the lake, was dark and eerily quiet, unlike the gusty Gryffindor tower she was used to. The soft sounds of the water flow were soothing, and together with the warmth, she was able to slip into a deep sleep, leaving her awakening the next morning feeling the most well-rested she'd been during her time in the forties.

The chatter of the Slytherin girls was a stark contrast to the Gryffindor girls of her time, even though they were just as loud. Instead of talk of quidditch, classes, and job prospects, the pureblooded young women of this time liked to discuss dresses, and marriage, and children, and their families at home. The uniform was slightly more conservative, too, with longer skirt lengths and a slightly scratchier material. But other than that, she was relieved that it was still mostly the same; though it would take a while for her to get used to green and silver around her neck as opposed to scarlet and gold.

Following closely behind Lucretia and Celeste (who she learned was a Greengrass) the next morning, Hermione lost focus in their discussion of their upcoming Charms class as they entered the common room and her attention was drawn to the group of boys on the far side. The seventh years were circled close to the fireplace, some seated and some standing.

Her eyes were drawn to Tom like magnets, who had turned to look in their direction. As Head Boy, she knew full well he would have his own private dormitory and no need to venture into the common room unless he specifically wanted to. In her own time, she'd barely seen the few Gryffindor heads step foot in their common room. She was reminded of his words the previous night; _'We look after our own.'_ Perhaps Slytherin house of this time wasn't at all like the one she knew. Perhaps house unity was far more important in this decade.

He sent her a small smile before turning back to the group of boys around him.

Hermione swallowed. If it weren't for her urgent need to return to the nineties, she could very easily see herself crushing on this boy.

 _This tall, dark-haired, handsome, surely intelligent boy..._

"Dreamy, isn't he?"

"Hmm?" Hermione sounded, drawing her attention from the tall boy back to Lucretia whose presence she had completely forgotten about.

"Tom."

"Oh. Oh, no, I was just-"

"It's okay, there's no need to fib," Lucretia said with a soft laugh. "He's the most appealing of our lot by _far_ , and that's even with Abraxas in the equation."

She could feel all of the blood in her body pooling to her cheeks.

"He's not spoken for, either," Lucretia added with a nudge. "Unlike most in our house, he doesn't have the family pressure of marrying at a young age. Surely if he did, he wouldn't have let Celeste slip through into Nott's fingers."

"Umm," Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly, unsure of how to get herself out of the situation.

"I can put a good word in, if you like."

"No, _no_ , thank you," she urged quickly at the same time the group of boys barked in laughter at something Abraxas was saying. "I'm not... I just... there's someone else. At home."

"Oh," Lucretia said, sounding genuinely surprised. "But you don't have a ring?"

"We're not engaged," Hermione said as if it were blatantly obvious.

" _Oh,_ well then, all is fair! The men must know that they need to move swiftly," she said. "Don't you worry. I'll put a good word in."

"No, Lucretia-"

"It's quite alright, you don't need to thank me," she said excitedly, moving to flounce off to the other group of girls on the far side of the common room.

She barely had a moment to herself before she saw him move. Almost as if he had been waiting for Lucretia to leave her, Tom excused himself from his circle of companions and approached Hermione, warm smile firmly in place.

"Miss Graves," he greeted with a slight nod of his head. "I trust you slept well?"

"Yes," she said, positive that she must have still been blushing from her interaction with Lucretia. "Very."

"May I walk you to breakfast?" He asked. "I know it's still a bit early, but I thought we could go by the Charms classroom? I daresay Professor Slughorn wouldn't be too happy with me if I didn't ensure that you know your way to your first class."

"Oh," she replied, unable to withhold her surprise. "Yes. That would be lovely. Thank you."

"The pleasure is all mine."

Both his words and the way that he spoke them triggered an increase in her heart rate, and Hermione was quickly overwhelmed with the same feeling she had suffered in her second year when Lockheart had been their Defence Professor. She took his extended arm robotically as she tried to recover once more from the impact of his smile - a smile that surely could have move mountains if he wished it.

As he led her through the dungeons and pointed out the few features that he must have missed the night before, Hermione nodded and made sounds of interest where appropriate while she internally tried to calm herself.

She absolutely could _not_ allow herself to become infatuated with a boy from the nineteen forties. Really, he'd be fifty years her senior! She had to stay focused on returning home and keep herself as free of ties to this time as she could manage. To do anything different would be... irresponsible. Not to mention reckless…

And daft…

And foolish…

...But he was just so _tall._ She had always liked tall boys, and Tom, at a touch taller than Ron, was almost a whole head taller than her.

"Through here is the Potions store room; if you ever need anything too dangerous for the classroom, you'll find it through there. You'll need Slughorn's permission though, it's been warded..."

And his teeth were so _white_ , and so _perfect_ that her parents would have most definitely approved. His canines were pointed perfectly sharp, and she imagined that if he bit his lip with them, it would be quite painful. But she wasn't so sure if it would hurt so much if it was _her_ lip being bitten...

"...down this corridor. Professor Beery is down there too, I think he prefers the dungeons having been a Slytherin himself..."

His baritone was so smooth, his Adam's apple moving down his pale throat with each word he spoke. Though she was sure they would sound better in her ear, low and quiet, for her only...

" _Oho!_ Tom m'boy! I trust you're taking good care of our newest arrival?"

Hermione cleared her throat as she was brought back out of her daze by the distinctive, booming voice of Professor Slughorn, sounding just as enthusiastic as she remembered.

"Of course, sir," Tom replied without hesitation.

Like Dumbledore, Slughorn was strikingly younger than she remembered, his thick strawberry blond hair a stark contrast to the bald professor of her time.

"Wonderful! You are in very capable hands, Harmony."

"Hermione," she immediately corrected with thinning lips.

"Oh, yes, of course," he conceded with a laugh. "I trust I'll be seeing you in Potions class...?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wonderful! Wonderful indeed! The more the merrier!" He exclaimed loudly, drawing more attention to them than Hermione would have liked. "Well, I shouldn't be holding you up on your first day. Enjoy your breakfast, Harmony."

Her brows furrowed as she turned her head to watch the old man scurry off down into the dungeons.

"He can... take some getting used to," Tom said as he watched her with an amused smirk.

"Yes, I'm sure he will," she said as they began in the direction of the Great Hall once more.

"Oh, and Mr. Riddle?" The loud voice of Slughorn called back to them.

Hermione stiffened as Tom turned on his heel back to face the professor. "Yes, sir?"

Her brain stalled.

 _Riddle._

"Don't forget this evening, m'boy!"

Hermione's heart _stilled_ as the blood drained from her cheeks.

 _Mr. Riddle._

 _Tom._

 _Tom Riddle._

She suddenly felt sick.

"You know I wouldn't miss it."

Her mouth slowly opened, a hesitant breath escaping her lips.

In her state of shock, she didn't notice as Slughorn left them once more, didn't notice as Tom's attention was brought back to her.

"We have monthly meetings, a _club_ I suppose you could call-" he broke off, seeing Hermione's blanched expression. "Are you alright?"

"I -" she started, pulling her arm back, needing to put some space between them. "I have to - I forgot, I - I have to go..."

She left in a hurry, not looking back as she all but ran up the stairs toward the Entrance Hall, not noticing the tightening of Tom's jaw as he watched her go.

 _Tom Riddle. He was Tom_ Riddle _._

But _of course_ he was! How hadn't she realised it? Tall, dark-haired, charming and handsome, Head Boy, _1944_ , of _bloody course_ he was Tom Riddle!

How could she be so _fucking_ _stupid?!_

She had considered Grindelwald. She had thought of Dumbledore, and McGonagall, and Hagrid, and the Malfoy's, and her grandparents, and even _Harry's_ grandparents for fuck's sake - _how had she not even considered Voldemort himself?!_

Her breathing sped up to a pant as she raced up the Grand Staircase like a mad woman.

 _Dumbledore. She needed Dumbledore._

Harry had described him, Ginny had described him, but neither of those came anywhere close. She had always wondered why no one had known, why Dumbledore had never done acted sooner. But now, it was all so clear. She always assumed he would have been cold, calculating, _off._ But no, that was the danger; he was warm, friendly, beautiful, perfect. He was a true wolf in sheep's clothing, a demon behind the face of an angel, with words as smooth as silk. Those who were shown his mask had absolutely no hope of seeing him for what he was, what he _truly_ was.

"Professor?" She called, panicked, as she skidded to a halt in front of the Transfiguration classroom and knocked on the door. After no response, she tried the handle to find it unlocked. "Professor?" She tried again, once she had let herself in.

"Miss Graves," he greeted from behind his desk.

"I'm so sorry to barge in on you like this, sir," she said, her voice coming out breathless, "but I - I think I have an inkling as to what I'm doing here now."


	2. Two

She took a moment to calm her nerves before approaching the door of the Charms classroom.

So _what_ if Tom Riddle was sitting in the classroom, just beyond this door? He was only a boy after all. She could handle a _boy._ Sure, he would grow up to become one of the most powerful dark wizards that the world had ever seen, and there wasn't anything she could do or anyone she could tell about it - but that didn't change the fact that he was currently just a _boy._

 _A boy who had four murders under his belt,_ she thought to herself, with an increasing sense of dread.

But surely, he wouldn't remember her. In this time, she would simply be another faceless student. Yes, admittedly, she had already gained a bit of his attention being the shiny, new student, but that would all blow over soon enough. He was Head Boy, it was his _job_ to be interested in the newcomer, after all. Who knows, he would live a long life, maybe he would meet multiple 'Hermione's in his time? Maybe he wouldn't remember her at all, especially after fifty years. She would simply have to keep her head down, stay out of his way, and figure out the trick to the room of requirement. As long as she avoided any more of his attention, she would be _fine._ The timeline would be _fine._

That wasn't so hard. She could do that.

She took a deep breath, and forced herself to enter the classroom.

The familiar classroom was already half full, and there was a row of completely empty tables toward the front that looked awfully inviting. But, seeing the distinctive dark hair of the boy she now knew would grow to become Lord Voldemort sitting front row centre, she chose to slip into a chair in the back row beside Owen Avery.

The Charms professor of this time, Professor Hazelwood, thankfully didn't call her out. Once all of the students had filed in, the stern woman began the class as if nothing was unusual, and for that, Hermione was beyond grateful. Merlin knew her sorting in front of the whole student body a week into the start of the year had been embarrassing enough.

The class had been in the middle of learning about cushioning charms, leaving her relieved that her first class was on a topic she could do to learn a little bit more about. To calm her nerves over her proximity to the boy two rows ahead, Hermione put her efforts into jotting down the professor's lecture word for word.

She was pleasantly surprised by Hazelwood. She had long thought that it couldn't be possible that anyone could know their Charms better than Professor Flitwick, but it seemed that his predecessor may have held the title, after all.

"And can anybody tell the class the differences between a _cushioning_ charm and a _softening_ charm?"

Hermione's hand _itched_ to be raised, and she very nearly did so out of instinct.

"Yes, Mr. Riddle?"

"A cushioning charm is in essence, a conjuration, while the softening charm is a modification," he explained in the same resonating, smooth voice that Hermione had been admiring that very morning. "The _molliare_ charm will produce an invisible layer that can be moulded over a surface with the effect of cushioning a collision with said surface, while the _spongify_ charm will alter an object's properties at the physical level, making it itself rubbery or bouncy."

Although she could only see the back of Tom's head, by the reaction of poor Professor Hazelwood, Hermione was certain she was currently the victim of one of his dazzling smiles.

"Perfect. Five points to Slytherin."

Sending a bitter glare toward the back of his head, Hermione unintentionally pressed her quill through her parchment.

The rest of the class passed by much too quickly for her liking. Occasionally the Professor would ask questions, most of which were answered either by Tom or the blonde Ravenclaw student on the other side of the room. Hermione forced herself to remain silent, resorting to sitting on her free hand to prevent herself from raising it.

It wasn't until the class had been tasked with practicing the incantation that she drew any attention from the Professor.

"Miss Graves, I believe?"

Seeing a few of the other students turn to observe their interaction, Hermione simply nodded.

"You were previously home-schooled?"

"That's right."

"Seventh year Charms can be highly challenging, even for students who have spent their whole schooling career within these walls. If you do find yourself struggling, please, don't hesitate to ask for help. Myself and your classmates will be more than willing to assist, should you need-"

"Oh, no, ma'am, I don't think I'll be having too much trouble," she spoke quickly, not needing to tell her _which_ classmates would be more than happy to assist her. "I'm certain I can keep up."

Professor Hazelwood seemed doubtful, but accepting nonetheless. "Of course, dear."

As the class let out, Hermione was one of the first ones out of there, following closely behind Avery as he joined up with Celeste and Lucretia. She figured that if she seemed to be getting along well with the others, Tom wouldn't feel the need to approach her again. It seemed to work; they managed to make it down to the greenhouses without any interruptions.

Unfortunately for her, however, Herbology did not go as smoothly as Charms had. A mere five minutes into the class, and Professor Beery called out the two words Hermione had been dreading.

"Partner up!"

Panic quickly setting in, Hermione's searched for a familiar face. Lucretia sent her a sympathetic glance as she took a seat next to Celeste, while Walburga sent her a scowl as she sat next to Avery. Searching the room for any other lone students, she quickly noticed that Tom was looking her way. Without consideration as to what she was doing, Hermione pounced for the Malfoy ancestor standing on his own, opting for the lesser of two evils.

"Partner?" She asked hopefully.

His lopsided grin made her immediately regret her decision.

"Sure thing," he drawled.

Still, she took the stool on his left and, seeing that he seemingly had nothing to prepare himself for the lesson, she pulled her Herbology out textbook from her satchel, and placed it on the bench between them.

As Professor Beery began lecturing about the safety precautions of working with Alihosty, she watched Abraxas out of the corner of her eye, seeing him leaning back on his chair precariously. Rolling her eyes, she tried to focus on the lesson at hand.

"Can anyone enlighten the class as to the more commonly known name of the tree?"

Hermione's left hand shot up before she could even register what she was doing.

"Yes, Miss Graves?" Professor Beery called with raised brows.

Seeing many curious eyes focused on her, she cleared her throat. "Uh, the Hyena Tree, sir," she said timidly as she glanced over to see Tom's expressionless gaze locked on her. "The leaves can induce hysteria and uncontrollable laughter... which has been compared to the laugh of a hyena. Though it's effects can be countered by the treacle of the Glumbumble."

"Well done," the Professor said with a tone of surprise. "Five points to Slytherin."

As Professor Beery continued on with his lecture, Hermione made a conscious effort not to look back in Tom's direction. She focused down onto her book, mentally scolding herself for her lack of self-restraint. She hadn't even lasted two hours!

" _Psst._ "

She glanced sideways to see Abraxas staring curiously with an expression that made him look like a spitting image of Draco.

She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"Hermione, right?"

A bit annoyed, she frowned. "Yes."

"You know your plants?"

Her frown deepened. "We're in class. I'm trying to listen!" She whispered back.

"Oh, come on," he encouraged. "You know your plants?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes."

"I thought you were home-schooled?"

"I was."

"Then, how do you know your plants?"

"Be _quiet,_ Malfoy."

"Please, this is all in the book," he whispered dismissively.

"In the book you don't have, you mean?"

"I have it."

"Where is it then?"

"In my dorm."

She snorted softly. "Fat lot of good it's doing you there."

"Wow," he commented with a scoff, "I didn't know dirty blood made women such bitc-"

"Mr. Malfoy?"

Abraxas' head shot up.

"Was there something you'd like to share with the class?"

"Oh, no, sir. I was just explaining to Miss Graves why the Glumbumble can be such a problem for the manufacture of honey," he said smoothly.

Hermione gaped at his blatant lie while Professor Beery grunted before beginning his lecture once more. Sending Abraxas a deep scowl, she went back to focusing on the Professor, refusing to look in his direction for the rest of the class.

 _Clearly, the apple didn't fall far from the tree._

The rest of her first day passed in a similar fashion to Charms, Hermione now being sure to steer clear of both Tom _and_ Abraxas. She clung to the other Slytherin girls, happy to withstand Walburga's glaring so long as it meant that Tom wouldn't approach her again. Unlike Abraxas, he clearly cared very much about his studies and didn't try to make conversation during lesson time. He shone in every class she shared with him, answering what felt like half of the Professors questions.

She glared bitterly each and every time.

Much to her relief, the last lesson of the day was Ancient Runes, and Hermione was blessed with a Tom Riddle-free hour. Being one of her favourite subjects, she chose not to hold back in hopes that it would be easier to keep her performances mediocre if she excelled in at least one class. It was healthy to have an outlet, she supposed.

The only downside to her Runes class, was that she didn't know anyone else in the class. The class was dominated by Ravenclaws; the only Slytherins she shared it with were Rolan (who she had learned was a Dolohov), and a mousy girl called Claire Prewett. As a result, Hermione made her way down to dinner that evening on her own. Feeling exhausted from the day's events, she didn't pay much attention to where she was going, and when she made it to the Entrance Hall, she ended up walking straight into the broad back of one of the very people she was trying to avoid.

"Watch it, muddy," Abraxas snapped.

She blinked quickly, affronted by his hostility. " _Excuse_ me," she snapped back moodily. "It won't happen again."

"That's what I-"

"Malfoy."

Abraxas' head snapped up to look behind Hermione.

"Five points from Slytherin."

"What?! Come on-"

"You're late for dinner," Tom said, a hint of finality in his tone.

"But-"

"Don't make me make it detention."

Abraxas snorted loudly and left without a word, leaving Hermione wishing that he'd come back.

"Are you alright?" He asked gently, his eyes shining with a genuine concern to match his tone.

 _It's all a lie._

"Fine," she said shortly, stepping back to leave as her gut screamed at her to put as much distance between them as possible.

"Miss Graves-"

"I really should get going-"

"Is something the matter?" He asked, stepping in front of her path. "You never made it down for breakfast this morning, I just thought I'd make sure that I didn't-"

"No," she said quickly. "No problem. That's very kind of you, but I'm fine. Now if you'd excuse me, I really have to go," she asserted before weaving past him and speeding off toward the bathrooms.

His eye twitched.

* * *

It didn't take her long to establish that Professor Slughorn was a much better teacher in his youth. His lectures were far more animated, and he spoke with more enthusiasm than she had ever seen from the aged Professor, and that was truly saying something.

The seventh-year class had started the week before on their Calming Draughts, meaning that she was starting her first class already a week behind. Not wanting to hold any of the other students up, Slughorn permitted Hermione to work on her own; an arrangement that she couldn't have been happier with.

She worked hard on the beginnings of her potion that afternoon in the back corner of the classroom, happy for the chance to work without the close watch of a partner or the risk of one messing it up for her. She followed the textbook closely, completely losing herself in her focus. But, come the final stage of her brewing, she went to reach for her scurvy grass, only to see that she must have forgotten to grab it from the store room. With a soft curse under her breath, Hermione left her station and hurried across the room, not wanting her potion to simmer for too long before adding the grass.

To say that the store room was a mess was putting it lightly. Slughorn's storage system was a stark contrast to Snape's perfectly organised shelving and it ended up taking her much longer to locate the grass than she would have liked. Eventually she found a small jar near the corner of the room with the small brown leaves that looked like the ones she was looking for. As she went to grab them, however, she gasped at the same time as she jumped, noticing a movement in her peripheral vision.

"I'm sorry," Tom said in an amused tone as he stepped into the room. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, no," she gushed quickly, trying to get her breathing under control. "That's quite alright."

She moved quickly, eager to get out of there, snatching up the last few blades of grass in the jar and frowning as she realised that there wasn't enough there for her potion.

"Here."

Hermione spun around to see Tom much closer than he had been a moment before, reaching up above her shoulder to a high shelf to pull down another small jar of the grass.

"Professor Slughorn keeps the spare ingredients up the top. They can be difficult to spot, especially for one as short as you," he said as he handed some toward her, and she couldn't help her instinctive hesitation.

"They won't bite," he said lowly, his eyes bright with _something_ she couldn't quite put a finger on.

"Th-thank you," she said quickly, taking the grass from his hand, careful not to make any skin contact as she did so. She hurried back out of the room with her head down, eager to get as far from him as she could.

But little did she know, that small interaction in Potions class was to be the first of many.

Over the next few days, she constantly caught his eye from a distance, each time her stomach clenching with dread knowing that he must have been watching her. He tried speaking with her at almost every opportunity, making small talk across the dinner table, offering pieces of advice during practical classes.

As the week went on, and it became clear that he wasn't letting up, Hermione was forced to resort to creative lengths to avoid being alone with the Head Boy. She was sure to go to breakfasts and lunches accompanying either Lucretia or Celeste at all times, although even this didn't stop him from joining their group for between-class walks. She remained sitting at the back of her classrooms, having quickly noticed that Tom would always choose a spot at the front. She spent all of her free time tucked away in her favourite secluded corner of the library, careful that no one ever saw her go there. She had even grown so uncomfortable by his attentions that she started to skip dinners, choosing to visit the elves in the kitchens at night after she'd finished her daily pacing with the room of requirement.

By the end of the week, she was almost at her wits end with both the boy and with the blasted room. She had racked her brain, trying every combination of words she could think of. The sooner she got out of this time and away from him, the better.

 _I need a way to get to the nineteen-nineties._

 _I need a way to travel forward in time._

 _I need a way to undo what was done._

 _I take back my initial request._

 _I need a way to return home._

Night after night she stayed up under her disillusionment charms pacing the cold corridor, and night after night the room refused to do as she asked.

It was maddening!

Come the end of her second Monday as a student of the forties, as she trudged out of her Runes class moodily, she was forced to consider the worst; _what if she was stuck there? What if this was her reality now?_ She'd never see her friends again, never see her family again. Never would she get the chance to see the wizarding world at peace, never would she get the chance to see what was there between herself and Ron.

Caught up in her own melancholic thoughts, Hermione paid no attention as she decided that she couldn't skip dinner for another night and made her way up to the Great Hall. She was so caught up, that as she journeyed through the busy dungeon corridor, she failed to notice how vulnerable she had left herself as she passed Tom in a close discussion with Avery and Malfoy until it was much too late.

 _Oh god._

She lowered her head and quickened her pace. Maybe he didn't see her. Maybe he was in an important conversation. Maybe he had finally given up. She hadn't _seen_ him looking in her direction, so surely-

"Miss Graves?"

 _Fuck._

She sped up.

It was plausible that she didn't hear him. They _were_ in a busy corridor. Students were yelling, footsteps were echoing through the enclosed space; it was _entirely_ plausible.

"Miss Graves?"

All of the muscles in Hermione's body simultaneously contracted as a firm grip took hold of her elbow, preventing her from avoiding him any longer.

With her best faux look of surprise, Hermione looked up to meet his eyes.

"Oh! Mr. Riddle. Fancy seeing you here," she said weakly.

"Yes, funny that," he said dryly, his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. "Forgive me, but I've been meaning to catch you for a few days now. You see, I can't help but get the impression that you've been avoiding me this past week. If I've offended you in anyway, please allow me to apologise-"

"No, no. You haven't," she squeaked, increasing the distance between them.

"Are you quite sure?" He continued, his eyes darting down to make a point of her retreat. "Because if this is about Abraxas and Walburga, then I must ensure you that they do not speak for all of us in Slytherin House."

"I- _yes_ ," she said quickly, choosing to go along with his assumption. "Yes. I know. But I can't help but - it's a sensitive topic, you see. And I just thought - I mean... you seem awfully friendly with Abraxas."

"I understand," said Tom, his tone lowering as he stepped closer. "Better than most, in fact. You're not the only half-blood among us."

She blinked. Had she not been so shocked by the fact that _Tom Riddle_ was seemingly trying to _comfort_ her, she would have been taken aback by the fact that he just _admitted_ to being a half-blood.

" _Oh._ "

"My friendship with Abraxas doesn't change my opinions. I couldn't bear it if you placed me in the same basket," he said carefully in a way that made her heart rate speed up. She searched him, trying to find any form of deception, any _crack_ in the mask, but found nothing.

 _He seemed completely genuine._

"And I'd hate to see my new competition lose her spirit so soon," he added with a smile that, at the beginning of her stay, she would have found dazzling.

And, damn her, _damn her_ , the blood ran to her cheeks yet again, despite the fear at the bottom of her stomach, despite the almost overwhelming desire to _run._

"No need to worry. No spirit lost here," she managed awkwardly, forcing a small smile.

"Good," he said, the corners of his mouth turning as if he were withholding a laugh. "Well I suppose you were off to dinner, I don't mean to hold you up..."

With a stiff nod, Hermione took that as her cue to leave.

Her heart was still beating at a million miles an hour once she made it to the Great Hall. Honestly, she was being ridiculous. There was no need for her to be so scared. He wouldn't hurt her, not now, not within the walls of Hogwarts. She was safe. He had shown her no hostility, he had absolutely no reason.

And there was even _less_ of a need for her to blush.

He was Lord Voldemort.

He was not attractive.

He was not charming.

It was all a _lie_. A well placed, flawless _lie._

She was unable to shake her thoughts of him for the rest of the evening, and they continued to plague her, even as she lay awake in her bed.

She had to admit that his persistence was truly admirable. But in truth, she was struggling to understand _why_ he was trying so hard. He should be getting over the novelty of a new student by now. Especially as she had been sure that her class performances had all been somewhat average. She had been sure not to become tangled in with those she knew were close to him. She was average looking at _best._ She had made it clear that she had no real interest in pursuing a friendship of any kind, or anything else for that matter and-

Hermione shot up in her bed, her sudden intake of breath ragged as her colossal mistake suddenly dawned on her, clear as day.

 _She had been a complete, and utter fool._

For avoiding Tom was the worst thing she could have possibly done. Had she continued as if all were normal, had she pursued the friendship he had seemingly offered, he surely would have lost any natural interest in the newcomer. But now, _now_ , he knew that there must have been a reason for her sudden skittishness.

 _Shit._

But, he had assumed it was because of their housemates' comments about her blood status. Perhaps all was not lost. Perhaps if she pulled herself together, he would brush off her hesitations...

She groaned softly and ran her hands through her hair.

Who was she kidding, Tom Riddle was many things, but an idiot was not one of them. He'd seen the unnatural level of fear in her, on multiple occasions now. He'd seen the way she had suddenly shied away from the attractive Head Boy, who had been nothing but kind to her, who she might have even considered to be her first friend here. There was _no reason_ for her to not want a friendship with him like all of the other girls craved, none at _all_. He knew, _he had to know_ , that something was up, something that couldn't be so easily explained by some insults from a few teenagers.

 _That_ was why he was trying so hard; he wasn't trying to make her feel better, he wasn't trying to mend whatever acquaintanceship they may have had.

 _He was playing with her._

 _He was intentionally making her uncomfortable, gauging her reactions, waiting for her to slip up again, watching for the reason why._

She had foolishly become entangled into his trap _._ And it was _entirely_ of her own doing.


	3. Three

Thank you to those who have joined me (extra shout out to those who have shared your thoughts with me) for this short little ride, I hope you all have enjoyed it, even if just a little bit. Happy Tomione day!

* * *

"All alone, Miss Graves?"

His smooth voice drifted through the quiet of the library like music, gently disturbing Hermione from her reading.

"It would appear so," she replied to the intruder, making a strong attempt to mimic his casualness in her tone even though she was bubbling with irritation that he had found her hiding spot.

"I see that you've wasted no time at all in finding the best spot in the Library," Tom commented, showing his teeth in a grin. "You're not one for Quidditch?"

"No, not particularly," she said. "Not when our NEWTs are so close."

He nodded. "I am inclined to agree with you. May I join you?"

She instinctively went to say that _no,_ he bloody well could _not_ join her, that there were plenty of _other_ spaces in the library, until she reminded herself that she was supposed to be making an effort.

She needed to keep her cool.

"I don't see why not," she said nonchalantly, seeing the faintest hint of surprise at her answer on his face for a _fraction_ of a second.

It told her all she needed to know; _she was right. He had expected her to say no._

He recovered quickly, wasting no time in slipping into the seat opposite her, drawing what she saw to be his Potions essay out into the desk. She watched him unpack his quills and ink carefully, her eyes drawn to the attractive scrawl on the parchment.

It was not what she expected.

"You chose _Amortentia?_ " Hermione asked in disbelief as she took in the cursive words, the words slipping from her lips before she could stop them.

"Yes," Tom said simply.

"I - but - _why?_ "

"Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in existence," he said as if it were the most obvious thing. "Under its influence, the drinker would do anything for the object of their affections. Not just change their hair, or ditch their friends... I mean, _anything._ They become unpredictable, they lose self-control; they would steal, cheat, and in severe cases, even kill if their love wished it."

"Yes, but-"

"Tell me then, what is it that makes the Draught of Living Death so much more dangerous?" He countered with a quick glance down at her parchment.

"It - I mean, it's _clear._ Odourless. Anyone could drink it unintentionally, thinking it water. A single drop of a well brewed potion would be enough for the drinker to enter a sleep so deep that nothing aside from an antidote would wake them. And then there's the difficulty in diagnosing someone under its influence. Treating someone with the wrong antidote can often be fatal."

"Ah touché, but the affects you mention will impact the drinker and the drinker alone. The ill effects of a strong batch of Amortentia on a scorned lover, however, could be... disastrous. For both the drinker, and all who dare keep them away from their desire."

"Well... I mean, _yes_ , that's true..."

"And so, I must ask again, why wouldn't I choose Amortentia?"

"I just... I wouldn't have thought..." she stammered, still taken aback by how casually he spoke of the potion when she was sure he must have known of what his mother had done by now. "I don't know, you just don't seem the type for it."

"Don't I?"

"No."

"You mean, you don't think me romantic?"

"No, I just didn't think that you'd be the type who would think to resort to a love potion to make someone do what you want."

"So you _do_ think I'm romantic."

"Well, at present, I think you're a little bit _annoying._ "

He laughed, deep and loud, the rich sound one Hermione wouldn't mind hearing again and again. The aged librarian, however, didn't seem to feel the same, for a moment later, her head popped around the corner and gave them an irritated _shush._

"I'll have you know that I'm very romantic," he continued with a glint in his eye once the librarian went back to her work.

"I bet you say that to all of the girls."

"Just you," he said, and for a moment Hermione thought that she may have been hallucinating, for Tom Riddle actually _winked_ at her.

She found herself speechless.

"Let me show you," he said suddenly as he leaned forward across the table, his eyes alight with amusement.

"I - _pardon?_ "

"There's a Hogsmeade weekend in two weeks. Come with me."

"I..." she trailed off, completely taken aback by how their discussion had progressed. She must have been imagining things. Tom Riddle had not just asked her on a date. No way. Not _Tom Riddle._

 _Not Voldemort._

She was so baffled that she very nearly laughed.

But then the logical part of her brain pushed the romantic part aside and it dawned on her. He wasn't truly asking her at all; this was another test. This was him raising the stakes, it had to be. Just like when he asked if he could sit with her, he thought she would say no, he _wanted_ her to say no. He wanted to see what it would take for her to shy away from him once more, he wanted to see how personal her unexplained dislike for him was.

 _He wanted to know why he made her tick._

And so, knowing that she couldn't back down if she wanted to shake off his interest, she leaned back into her chair and looked right into his dark eyes which were curiously awaiting a response, and said,

"Alright then."

This time, as the corner of his mouth twitched, she was sure of his surprise.

He had definitely banked on her saying no.

"It's a date."

* * *

After that evening in the library, Tom's persistence only became worse, if that were even possible. It almost could have constituted bullying, if he weren't being so kind about it.

For the next week, he began finding her in the same spot of the library each day and would join her for her study sessions. He spoke to her politely at meal times, occasionally making passing comments in their classes, and walking with her between their shared ones.

He played the part of a schoolboy with a new crush perfectly, to the point where Hermione had to constantly remind herself that every time his cheeks flushed, every time he complimented her, every time he sent her a smile from across the room - _it was a lie._ And what made it worse, was the fact that her housemates had begun to notice what was going on. Walburga's cold glares has become positively frosty, while Lucretia would waggle her eyebrows at her and remind her at every opportunity that it was she who set them up.

It took each and every ounce of Hermione's self-restraint to remain calm. It often felt as if the only thing keeping her going was her constant assurance to herself that she wouldn't be stuck there. She would find a way home.

It wasn't all bad however; if she were being completely honest, had she not known who he would come to be and had she not been so suspicious of his motives, she might have actually found his company to be quite pleasant. He held her bag for her, he'd hold doors open for her, he was quick witted, sharp-tongued, helpful with her studies; everything she could have wished for and more in a study partner.

But no. _She knew what he was doing. She could not forget what he was doing. The Tom he was showing her wasn't the real Tom at all. She could not allow herself to get sucked in. He would get bored with her. She just needed to wait it out._

"Is something wrong?" Asked Tom on a cold Tuesday evening, a few days away from their 'date', as he noticed the way Hermione was intermittently glancing up at him with furrowed eyebrows.

"I... I just - I don't understand," Hermione began, finally deciding that she had been patient enough, and it was about time she start actively trying to shake him off again. "You have quite the sizeable group of friends, it's clear that many girls throughout the school fawn over you... why are you spending all of your time here, with me, instead?"

"I find you fascinating, Miss Graves," he answered without hesitation.

She laughed in disbelief. "Fascinating? A plain, bushy-haired, half-blooded witch like me?"

"Yes," he said, not missing a beat as he placed his quill down on the table. "Forgive me, but I actually find you quite... odd. It's refreshing."

She barked in laughter. "I must say, you really do have a way with words," she commented, her words laced with sarcasm.

He smiled along with her. "I don't mean you any offence. I simply mean... allow me to provide you with an example," he said as he leaned back in his chair lazily. "Yesterday morning in Potions, I watched you take a few threads of goosegrass, although the potion clearly called for fluxweed. I would have chalked it up to a mistake - the two do look quite similar, after all - but you did so with such a high level of thought on your features that I was forced to believe it intentional."

A breath of a laugh slipped through her lips at being caught out.

"You are very perceptive, Mr. Riddle," she conceded softly.

"Indeed. I couldn't help but find it curious..."

She laughed again, her mind searching for something, _anything_ to explain herself.

"I - you see, it's quite different for you and I," she began as she was hit with what she could have only described as a stroke of genius, inspired by the other young women of Slytherin. "As a young man such as yourself... the world is your oyster. But for me, as a woman... I don't have the same prospects. I am to be married within the next year or else become a burden to my family. And let's be honest now, no respectable young wizard wants a wife who will outsmart him."

But he did not respond the way she expected. She wanted a slight roll of his eyes, or a scoff, or a sideways glance; _anything_ to tell her that he believed her words, _anything_ to tell her that he was beginning to think of her as just a silly young woman like all of the others. No, instead he took his time and watched her thoughtfully, his expression unwavering.

"Perhaps it is not your wit that is the problem," he said eventually. "Perhaps it is your definition of respectable that is in need of altering."

This time, the laugh that escaped her was entirely genuine.

 _How was it that someone so awful could weave such care, such concern into his words?_

"If only it were so simple," she commented as she returned to her reading, hoping that their discussion was over.

"Do you think of me that way?" He asked after a moment, drawing her attention back.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think that I wouldn't like you if you proved to be more intelligent than me?"

She actually scoffed and answered without hesitation. "Yes."

" _Do_ you think that you're more intelligent than me?"

All of a sudden, she was overcome with the feeling that she had just been backed into a corner.

She shifted uncomfortably.

"I... I'm afraid that I don't know you well enough to make such a statement."

His eyes didn't leave hers as he moistened his lips.

"I hope that you are," he said quietly.

Her eyebrows shot up as high as her muscles would allow as she was once again thrown by his words.

"Why would you want that?"

"It would make you so much more fascinating."

She laughed nervously, the intensity of his stare setting off a strong feeling of unease deep in her stomach. She was quite positive that the last thing she needed was to gain _more_ if his interest. But, to her relief, her hopes came true after that, and the unlikely pair studied in silence for another half hour.

She felt his eyes on her the entire time.

* * *

Hermione spent her Friday night pacing the seventh-floor corridor in a last-minute desperate attempt to get out of her looming date with Tom.

She couldn't go on a date with him if she were in a different decade, after all.

She paced back and forth non-stop for two whole hours until her feet began to ache, at which point, she finally decided to call it quits and accept her coming fate. With slumped shoulders, she went to leave and almost jumped a foot in the air seeing a tall dark figure watching her from the end of the corridor.

" _Merlin!_ " She exclaimed, gripping her chest. " _What are you doing there?!_ "

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I'm not the one creeping on a young woman alone in a dark corridor! _Merlin_ ," she repeated, her breathing slowly returning to normal as she cursed herself for her stupid idea of trying the room without her usual disillusionment charm. "And if you _must_ know, I was out for a walk. I find those dungeons to be awfully stuffy."

"You do realise that it's past curfew?" Tom said questioningly, moving closer such that they could speak more quietly.

"I - yes."

"I should give you detention."

"Oh," she stated dumbly. "Well... I would appreciate it if you didn't?"

"What type of Head Boy would that make me?" He asked, a gleam in his eye.

"A bad one."

The corner of his mouth slowly turned upward. "Come on. I'll walk you back."

"I know the way," she protested instinctively.

"Yes, but should you run into any professors, they most definitely will not be as courteous as I and they _will_ give you detention."

"Oh - yes. Right."

She followed along whilst nervously gripping her own fingers, grateful that he hadn't asked what she was doing up on the seventh floor at such an hour. They journeyed in silence, Tom stopping at the corners to watch out for professors.

"To think, the perfect Head Boy has a rebellious streak, after all. Whatever would Professor Slughorn say?" She commented teasingly as they reached the second floor undetected.

"You have no idea," he said with a lopsided smile, his eyes glistening.

 _But oh, how she did._

Still, she thought it best not to comment on his extracurricular activities.

As they eventually made it to the first-floor corridor undetected and passed the familiar large landscape picture, Hermione couldn't help but eye it longingly. Out of all of the things she'd regretted about her time at Hogwarts, it was the fact that she'd never have the chance of being appointed Head Girl. All thanks to the boy beside her.

"Is it nice?" She asked quietly, her words escaping her of their own free will, breaking the silence of the corridor. "Having your own private space?"

"Exceedingly so," he said with a smirk, not needing to ask what she was referring to. "It makes all those years spending my time doing prefect rounds worth it."

"Is it extravagant? More comfortable than the shared dormitories?" She continued, her curiosity of what it would be like to have been housed there herself getting the better of her.

"I can show you, if you'd like," he suggested with a flicker of deviousness in his dark eyes as his steps came to a halt.

She took the moment to search him, the tension at what his words implied quickly thickening.

She knew he was daring her again, testing her. He didn't mean the insinuation that any other boy would have meant, he couldn't possibly. No, this was another attempt to make her _crack_ , to turn tail and flee as she had on her second day. But Hermione Granger was nothing if not stubborn; she would not allow him to win. No, she would not give him the satisfaction, no matter how foolish going with him may have been.

"Alright," she agreed in a voice that was passable as excited.

He made a sound that was close to a laugh as he stepped back to the portrait.

"Haliwinkle," he said softly. The bird in the image flew from its branch, giving a soft whistle before the portrait slowly opened outwards. "After you," said Tom smoothly, gesturing for her to enter.

After a quick glance behind her, Hermione bit her lip and swallowed her nerves, stepping through into the short, dim corridor. Tom followed closely behind, the portrait clicking shut behind him.

"Through to the left is the common area," he explained softly, presumably because the Head Girl must have been there. "My dormitory is here."

She watched cautiously as he opened the door closest to the portrait on the right, the dim lighting spilling into the corridor. He stepped through, and with a soft spur of adrenaline, Hermione followed suit.

The first thing she noticed as she entered, was how large the space was. The room was decorated in a similar fashion to the dungeons, with deep green curtains and lounges, with a large queen-sized bed dressed in green and silver. She cautiously stepped deeper into the room, admiring the furnishings. And while she had been right in that the Head Boy's room _was_ much more extravagant than the shared dormitories, she found herself surprised by how _warm_ Tom Riddle's room was.

No dark artefacts, an innocent amount of mess one would expect from a seventeen-year-old boy, an unmade bed. It was surprisingly... _normal._

"You are quite the enigma, Miss Graves," Tom stated with amusement as he unwound his tie from his neck and folded it neatly, placing it atop of his dresser.

"Hermione," she corrected, watching his movements closely. "You brought me into your bedroom... are we not yet past the formalities?"

He chuckled, low and deep in his chest. "I suppose we are, _Hermione._ "

She turned away, choosing to scan his room rather than focus on the way he had said her name or on the newly exposed skin under his collar.

"It's quite lovely," she commented, turning her head up to admire the chandelier.

"Yes. It is."

When she looked back, his eyes were locked on her.

"Why did you come with me?" He questioned abruptly, his head cocked to the side curiously. She had the sudden impression that the question had slipped out and he hadn't _meant_ to ask her. "Into my chambers?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You're not like the others," he said as he stepped across the room toward her. "You are cautious, easily startled, you think before you act. You do not seem the type to enter a young man's bedchambers on her own so recklessly."

She pulled her lip between her teeth. "Perhaps you don't know me as well as you think you do."

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but she did not give him the chance to voice his thoughts.

"Besides, you've given me no reason to suspect that you are anything but a gentleman," she continued. "So why would I refuse you?"

"Haven't I?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure I -"

"Have I not given you a reason to think less of me?" He clarified.

"Of course not."

He nodded thoughtfully as her stomach once again clenched with nerves.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said as the tension almost became too much. "I confess, I was worried that I had unknowingly managed to scare you off."

"No," she said simply, and when the silence between them once again grew thick, she added a feeble, "not at all."

"Good."

As he stepped closer, and his eyes seemed even darker than she was used to, she had to forcibly remind herself of what he was doing. He was not flirting with her. Tom Riddle did not _flirt._ He was still playing with her, a game of chicken to see who would break first.

And it would not be her.

She raised her chin confidently as he closed in, watching closely for any sign of dishonesty, any glimmer of _anything_ seeping through the cracks. But as he took another step and his eyes flicked down to her lips, it became harder and harder for her to focus on her own advice.

"I can't help, but wonder..." he said lowly, close enough now for her to feel the warmth of his breath.

"Wonder what?" Her words came out far more breathlessly than she had intended.

"What you would do..."

She swallowed as he twisted a tendril of her hair around his finger.

"What I would do...?"

She watched as the tip of his tongue came between his lips to moisten them as he took a final step, close enough that they were very nearly touching.

"If I decided that I wasn't the gentleman you thought of me."

 _He wasn't going to..._

 _He wouldn't..._

 _Oh, but he was..._

It was a ghost of a touch, his lips brushing hers so lightly that she could have believed it hadn't actually happened. And when she didn't pull away, didn't retreat, he closed the distance once more, raising the stakes yet again.

His lips were gentle, nothing like what she would have expected of a young dark wizard, but everything she would have expected from an innocent boy. His kisses were slow, exploratory, _sweet_ even, and although her mind was screaming at her, _begging_ her to pull away and get out of there, Hermione allowed herself to entertain the treacherous thought; _what if it wasn't a game? What if she had been reading the situation all wrong this whole time and he wasn't yet the monster of her nightmares? What if he simply wanted to kiss her?_

 _What if this - love, affection - was the way to stop him from tearing apart his soul?_

 _What if_ this _was why the room sent her back?_

And so, she recklessly kissed him back, allowing herself to experience Tom Riddle simply as the charming boy he had shown her; justTom Riddle, independent of Lord Voldemort.

She moved her lips in time with his, feeling him smile against her. She brought her arms around his shoulders - something she had wanted to do on the first day she met him - and dared to want _just_ a little bit more, the desire to want to know how he tasted getting the better of her. She parted her lips with his, taking a small, daring taste of him, of _danger_ , with the tip of her tongue.

And it seemed to be exactly what he was waiting for.

He responded with vigour, bringing his hands up to cradle her jaw as he pushed her back into his dresser. Her moan of pain as her tailbone collided with one of the handles was muffled by his lips and seemed to only spur him on. His grip tightened, one hand lacing through the hair at the base of her skull while the other slipped down to her neck.

His hold around the sensitive skin of her neck gave her warm flushes she'd never felt with another before, and it was _intoxicating._ He was everywhere, trapping her in with his large frame, and his large hands, and had she not been in such a daze, had she been able to ignore the pleasurable feeling of his hips pressing into hers, she might have seen it coming.

Abruptly, he broke their kiss at the same moment his hands tightened around her neck and skull painfully, cutting off her air supply and stopping her from moving. She opened her eyes to see his dark ones boring into hers, but no longer was it charming Tom Riddle behind them.

 _They were cold._

And by the time she realised what he was doing, she was falling, wading backward through the fog of herself, and it was too late...

 _She was on the train, scolding a red-haired boy for trying (and failing) to turn his rat yellow..._

 _She was sitting on an uncomfortably solid stool in front of a large crowd, while the hat perched on her head bellowed out, "Gryffindor!"_

 _She was curled up in the girl's bathroom, sobbing as she thought to herself; what was so great about Harry Potter and his silly friend anyway?_

 _A young, familiar looking blond boy scowled at her, 'Nobody asked your opinion, you filthy mudblood.'_

 _She sat huddled in the corner of the Gryffindor common room while Harry recounted what he had seen in Tom Riddle's diary..._

 _Huddled in the same corner, with the same two boys who looked years older than the memory before, as Harry recounted his most recent private lesson with Dumbledore..._

 _Horcruxes..._

 _'Seven?! He's bloody bonkers!'_

 _'Not seven anymore. I destroyed his diary in my second year, remember? And Dumbledore destroyed the ring he stole from his uncle...'_

 _A very aged Professor Dumbledore stood in the Hospital wing, looking her in the eye. "Miss Granger, you know the law - you know what is at stake... you - must - not - be - seen."_

As she was painfully brought back to the present, both of them were panting. His eyes were wide, his lips parted as he hungrily gasped for air. His grip around her throat had loosened slightly, his fingers twitching against her skin from the weight of what he had seen. His expression was one she'd never seen on him, one she'd never expected to see on him. Somewhere between shock and pure, undiluted, anger.

" _You... don't belong here_ ," he said slowly in a coarse whisper, spacing out his words as he processed their meaning.

As hard as she could, she kicked him back and painfully pulled herself out of his hold.

And she ran.

She didn't bother closing the door to his dormitory behind her, didn't bother to close the portrait guarding the archway, didn't bother to look back to see that he wasn't following her.

She didn't know where she was going, just _away._

He knew. He knew she was from the future, he knew about Harry, he knew what she was, he knew what he was to become, and worst of all he knew that _she_ knew.

She had fucked up. Completely, monumentally, _horrifically_ fucked up. She had allowed herself to trust him for a _single_ moment, and that was all it took.

Without a sliver of doubt, the timeline was no longer intact.

The one person who couldn't know what was to come now did, and it was completely and entirely her fault. She had been stupid to go into his room, stupid to underestimate him, stupid not to think that he couldn't do anything worse than kill her.

Her breathing sped up as the beginning of a panic attack set in.

But she hadn't known, how _could_ she have known? Proficiency at Legilimency at such a young age was simply _unheard_ of! And now everything she knew would surely fall apart, and it was all because of her, and worst of all, _she was still trapped with him!_ What if he came after her again, what if he went back into her head for _more_?

She had to leave Hogwarts, of that she was certain. She couldn't trust herself, not when she only knew the very basics of Occlumency, not when he was this adept at Legilimency. She had to go far away, somewhere he would never look, somewhere he would never find her -

But...

She stopped in her tracks as she allowed herself to feel the reckless glimmer of hope within the mess she had made.

What if, she _had_ managed to destroy the horcruxes?

Tom Riddle finding out what was to become of him and what his undoing would be, might not be so bad, after all. He had seen himself fail, if only partially. He now had the knowledge that not one, but _two_ of his horcruxes would be destroyed. He had seen at _least_ four people who would find out about their existence.

If this was enough to make him see that horcruxes were not the way... then perhaps she _had_ destroyed them. Preventing them from being made at all, was just a different way to the same end...

With a feeling like an igniting fire in the pit of her stomach, Hermione dashed up to the seventh floor.

* * *

It had been daft of her not to try this earlier, honestly. But she had been so caught up in such a state of panic for herself and all around her, that she hadn't seen the obvious solution that had stood in front of her the whole time.

She hesitated momentarily as she wondered what the ramifications of a Voldemort without his horcruxes could possibly be. He wouldn't give up his goal of immortality, of that she was absolutely certain.

But surely, anything would be better than what she had left, and so, she shook off her doubts and began to pace.

 _I have found a way to destroy his horcruxes._

 _I have found a way to destroy his horcruxes._

 _I have found a way to destroy his horcruxes._

With a deep breath, she opened her eyes.

Before her stood a door.

* * *

As she hesitantly stepped out of the room of requirement, Hermione couldn't immediately tell whether she'd returned to her own time or not. The seventh-floor corridor was just as quiet, just as dark as it had been when she had initially stepped into the room.

She quickly removed her Slytherin tie - just in case - and hesitantly stepped down the corridor toward Gryffindor tower. Upon reaching the Fat Lady's portrait, she halted.

She knew the password of her time. One word, and she'd have her answer. Just one word. She wasn't sure why she hesitated. But then, just as she was about to try, a bushy haired witch rounded the corner toward her and Hermione lost all coherent thought.

" _Here_ you are, we've been looking everywhere for y-"

Lavender's shrill voice was cut off in a squawk as Hermione threw herself at the girl, almost tackling her to the ground as she pulled her into a tight hug.

"Oh! Lavender! I'm so happy to see you, you have no idea!"

"O-okay then," she said breathlessly as she tried to pry the other girl off, Hermione's tight hold making it hard for her to breathe.

"Oh _Merlin,_ how I've missed you! Oh, where's Harry? A-and Ron? Or Ginny, or Neville, or Luna, I have to -"

"Woah, _woah,_ " Lavender interrupted, holding Hermione in place by the shoulders. "They're fine, what's gotten into you?"

Hermione shook herself free of the other girls hold and tried to calm the bubbling excitement within her.

"Insane, honestly," Lavender mumbled to herself. " _As_ I was trying to say; you're wanted in the headmaster's office," she informed her irritably. "It's urgent, apparently."

With a look of shock and without a word of thanks, Hermione dashed off back the way she came toward the Headmaster's tower.

 _Headmaster. Dumbledore._ Had her actions truly changed time? Had some good come from her foolish mistake? Had she truly managed to save Professor Dumbledore?

Making it from the seventh floor to the third in what must have been record time, Hermione skidded to a halt by the large gargoyle. Seeing the staircase already exposed, she wasted no time in dashing up to the office door. She raised her fist to knock, however before she could make contact, she heard a muffled, "enter."

Relief - pure, undiluted relief - shot through her veins upon hearing the deep voice, and she all too eagerly pushed the door open and stepped inside.

But it was not Albus Dumbledore who sat behind the desk.

"Miss _Graves_."

Her breath caught in her throat as she met the familiar, haunting dark eyes of Tom Riddle.

And he didn't look a day older than thirty.

* * *

 _Awful things happen to those who meddle with time._

 _Awful things happen to those who meddle with time._

 _Awful things happen to those who meddle with time._


	4. Author's Note

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

Firstly, sorry for this update that's not really an update, but it **kind of is**?  
For those of you who have followed along for this ride and may not be aware of it, I would like to draw your attention to the **sequel** I decided to write, **Trap Ninety-Eight**.

 **I urge you to check it out** (or don't if you like, that's fine too) **:)**

I wouldn't have posted them separately, but I really wanted this one to stand alone.

ty! dev


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